


The Frog and the Cat

by CRob84



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, also there is a kitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRob84/pseuds/CRob84
Summary: A man moves to seek a better life, but loses what makes life worth living.





	The Frog and the Cat

A heavy, wet wind blew into Chicago off of Lake Michigan. It grew warmer as it came away from the lakeshore, and by the time it got into the heart of the city it was suffocating. It blew around the worn-our apartment building just outside of downtown, bringing with it the odors of car exhaust and garbage. At a third-floor window was a man smoking a cigarette and observing the street below.

Here was a stocky woman wheeling a cart full of groceries home from the corner market; here was an elderly couple ambling along hand-in-hand; here was a young man in sunglasses, a tee shirt and shorts, but moving with a purpose, as though someone were waiting for him. In the alley across the way there was movement that nobody else could see. It was a cat, skinny and covered in filth, probably looking for food. Scattered throughout the scene were children of various ages enjoying their summer break from school and adding to the cacophony of the city. The man in the window smoked his cigarette.

Occasionally the wind shifted and the smell of garbage from the city was replaced by a different stench of the garbage from inside the apartment. Dirty dishes filled the kitchen, some of them weeks old. In the living space, the dishes gave way to used containers of take-out, which the man had begun ordering around the time he ran out of clean dishes.

The man held a small origami frog. It was made of notebook paper, the sharp blue lines and crisp whiteness now dull and faded, the creases rounded and softened, the smooth panels wrinkled and stained. He had never meant to keep it. The woman who gave it to him hadn’t even been a particularly good friend. More of an acquaintance, a friend of a friend. He had been surprised when she came to his going-away party and given him the little hand-made memento. Apparently she had taken up origami as a hobby and was giving something to nearly everyone she met. It had been the only gift he’d received that night that hadn’t been alcoholic. He never got around to throwing it out, and had recently rediscovered it on a dusty shelf behind some other forgotten knick-knacks.

He had come to Chicago seeking… something. Excitement, adventure, culture, the world, life, he wasn’t sure, but he knew there had to be something his small town didn’t have. He would at least find out what that something was.

He’d found a job and a place to stay. He’d had a roommate who was nice enough, even if they had never really connected. He’d heard of people who became best friends with their roommates, reaching levels of intimacy and trust he had never imagined, but he and his roommate never got much farther than discussing who was responsible for which chores. He hadn’t found many friends. The people he worked with were nice, mostly, but he had never felt completely at ease with them. The few friends he had met he hadn’t had time to grow that close to. He always had to work - Chicago wasn’t cheap, after all. 

The friends he’d had back home had kept in touch for a while. They would talk of coming to visit him someday, and he would talk of returning to visit them. They talked, but didn’t make plans, and those visits never happened. Time and distance took their toll and those relationships grew thin and loose.

Eventually the roommate progressed to a better job, better situation, better life, and moved out, leaving the man alone with the dirty dishes, the take-out containers, and the paper frog.

He wondered how long it would take for someone to find his body after he died. Would anyone at work bother to check on him, or would they assume he was just another no-call, no-show and fire him? It wouldn’t be fair to say that nobody in his life would miss him, but nobody would miss him for very long. They would go back to their daily lives and there would be no interruption, no gaps, no spaces that he used to occupy where his absence would be felt. 

He smoked his cigarette. He wasn’t sure he even liked smoking; it seared his throat and scratched at his lungs. Maybe it was just because he bought cheap cigarettes. He liked what it did to him, though. The nicotine was stimulating, vitalizing. With each inhalation he drained a little life away from his future self so his present self could have a little extra. There was a practicality to that. What did he need all that life in the future for? Might as well use it now. There was also some ceremony to it - the condemned enjoying a final indulgence. 

He smoked and looked out the window. There was a small movement in the alley again, and again no one sees but him. He saw two little eyes shining from the shadows like green stars. He finished his cigarette…

He couldn’t say what made him get up, put on his shoes, and walk across the street to the alley. Perhaps it was just that he truly didn’t have anything better to do. At least, nothing that couldn’t wait another few minutes.

He walked into the alley, and almost immediately started feeling foolish. Was he going to just stand there saying, “Here, kitty kitty?” He was pretty certain no cat in history had ever actually come as a response to someone saying, “Here, kitty kitty.” Still, he felt he ought to make some noise to make his presence known.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here. I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked around at the walls and the dumpsters. He wasn’t sure what else to do, so he sat down. The ground was damp and oily, but he didn’t mind. As he sat there, it occurred to him that he should have brought some food, or perhaps a dish of clean water. 

It was a little cooler in the shade of the alley, and the air was fairly still this far in. The high walls muffled the noises of the city. He sat there for a few minutes enjoying the relative stillness and taking in his surroundings, examining the architecture of the buildings, seeing where they started to crumble and how they were patched, taking in the details that most people never see.

A small movement caught his attention. The cat with its bright green eyes peeked out from behind a dumpster. Its ears were forward and its eyes were wide. The man sat there trying to project a sense of calm and safety. The cat crept out, then paused and looked around. The man blinked slowly. There was nothing else in the alley but the cat and the man. The cat continued, staying low to the ground, making one cautious step at a time. It’s tail was low, but the tip twitched up in a hopeful way.

It was an adult cat, maybe not old, but it hadn’t been a kitten for a long time. Underneath layers of dirt and grease, it had orange fur which was missing in patches. As it came closer, the man could see that one eye was slightly swollen and seemed to be weeping. 

Step by careful step, the cat approached the man. It tentatively reached out a paw towards his lap, as if it were afraid the man’s legs would burn or sting it. The cat looked warily at the man’s face, and the man blinked again. The cat turned back to his lap and made the final steps onto his legs. It found a steady position and lowered itself down. The man reached out to pet the cat, and it gave a small start. It was like a coiled spring ready to shoot back to the shadows in an instant. It didn’t, though, and, very gently, the man began to pet it. Bit by bit, he could feel the cat relaxing. After a few minutes, it began to purr. It was an inconsistent rattle at first, as if the cat had almost forgotten how it was done, but it grew to a steady vibration.

It needed food. It wasn’t quite emaciated, but it clearly hadn’t had a good meal in some time. It also needed a bath. And a vet to look at that eye. He was pretty sure animal shelters did that kind of thing for free. Or was he thinking of something else? Regardless, he would take care of it. Vets and food and cleaning. He could see all of that filling his future, and he would be there to take care of all of it. 

He kept petting the cat, and it kept purring. 


End file.
